When my children were tiny - they'd cry from hunger. When older - they'd return home from school in an irritable mood - remaining fractious until placated with something to eat.

Later on - when they were teenagers - I learnt quickly that the smallest snack was most gratefully received by the hordes of young people who seemed to 'hang about'. Even if they weren't exactly up to a conversation with Ancient Folk - they were amazingly polite and charming after a slice of pizza or quiche to accompany the gallons of tea and coffee they drank.

When we started the restaurant we soon noticed that arriving customers were often ill-humoured and demanding until they had something to eat and drink. Often in anticipation of a hearty meal - people had starved themselves before coming out.

It was a grubby little place - half cafe and half fish shop - just off the quay in the small port at Wells-next-the-Sea on the North Norfolk coast. We gazed at it wistfully whenever we drove from our home - six miles away - in order to buy crabs - fish - shrimps; directly from the fishing boats. The outside of the building was as grimy as the smelly interior. Glaring yellow paint chipped away from the window frames: inside - a dirty - swirling orange - green and purple carpet in the cafe -